MADAM WENTWORTH.
"SO odd in you, Hetty, not to tell me that Elsie Probert was Madam
Wentworth's niece!"
Such was Minny's salutation to her friend as they met on Monday morning
at the schoolhouse door; and it was spoken in a tone of reproach which
grated uncomfortably upon Henrietta's sensitive nerves.
She answered, therefore, rather impatiently,—
"Why should I tell you? What business was it of yours?"
"It was as much my business as any one's, I suppose," said Minny,
haughtily. "At any rate, I think you might have told me. With such
friendship as you profess for me, I must say, it seems very odd that
you should keep such a thing a secret."
"What nonsense!" retorted Henrietta. "Why should I keep it a secret? I
never cared any thing about it one way or the other; and I don't see
now why you should make so much of it. What difference does it make to
you whose niece she is?"
"Why, of course, I should have treated Elsie rather differently if I
had known that she was somebody," said Minny. "Madam Wentworth! Why,
I would give any thing to be invited to her house as you used to be;
but I suppose you won't be asked there any more, now that you have
quarrelled with Elsie."
"What of that?" said Henrietta. "If Elsie gets some one else to do her
work for her, and then pretends that it is all her own, she is a mean,
contemptible, deceitful girl, if she were niece to Alexander the Great.
And I, for one, don't want any thing to do with her."
"Yes,—'if' she did!" said Minny. "But after all, Hetty, we are not
sure—at least I am not—that she did any such thing. It might have been
Miss Delancy's own work that I saw her have on the car; but I suppose
you know something more about it, from what you said at our house."
"What do you mean?" asked Henrietta.
"Why, you said you knew of your own knowledge that Elsie had not done
her work herself. So I suppose you found out in some other way. And
besides, Hetty, I don't think you ought to have told all the girls
without my permission. You know very well that I charged you not to
tell. Didn't I?"
Henrietta coloured deeply. Minny certainly "had" charged her not to
tell.
"But, Minny, you did as much as to say yourself—"
"I didn't say a word," interrupted Minny. "I was vexed enough at you
for talking so, and would have stopped you if I could. Of course, I was
not going to contradict you in my own house—"
"'Your' house!" interrupted Henrietta.
"Well, my mother's house, then,—though, by the way, it 'is' my house,
for my grandfather left it to me. What is the use of interrupting so?
I wasn't going to contradict you then, and make you look like a fool
before all the girls, by telling them that you had broken your word—"
"Or make yourself look like a fool, by telling how you looked into a
neighbour's window with an opera-glass!—"
"If you keep interrupting me, Henrietta, I shall think you want to
quarrel with me," said Minny, in a calmly superior tone. "I must say, I
think you are very childish this morning. If you don't want me to talk
to you, I won't; though I don't know what I have done that you should
treat me in this way. But I advise you not to say any more about Elsie,
unless you do know certainly; for you might get into trouble that it
would not be so easy to get out of. I am sure it is nothing to me, any
way: I only spoke out of friendship to you; and, I must say, I didn't
expect to be treated in this way!"
And Minny immediately proceeded to dissolve in tears, as her custom was
on all occasions when she chose to consider herself aggrieved.
"Now, Minny, it's very silly to cry," said Henrietta. "I am sure I
didn't mean to quarrel with you, or any thing of the kind: only I
didn't like to have all the responsibility thrown on my shoulders, when
I never should have thought of such a thing if you hadn't begun it."
"But you ought not to have told!" sobbed Minny. "You know I told you
not to say a word about it. Oh, Henrietta!—to think that you should
have betrayed me,—you that I loved so much, that I trusted so! But I
shall never have confidence in any human being again! I wish I never
did love any one, and then I should not always be disappointed!" And
all this was accompanied by torrents of tears and hysterical sobs, till
Henrietta really became alarmed.
In the midst of this interesting scene, Elsie entered the
recitation-room, and naturally stood astonished at the sight of such
amazing grief without any apparent cause.
"What 'is' the matter?" she asked. "Has Minny heard any bad news? Or is
she sick?"
Minny sobbed and sighed, and explained with many words that some one
had wounded her heart and betrayed her confidence, and gave notice that
she might never be expected to recover from the shock, and finally came
to the point,—that Henrietta had told of something which Minny had
desired her never to repeat.
"Is that all?" asked Elsie, who had lately seen too much of real grief
to be greatly affected by Minny's sentimental distress. "Come, Minny,
don't cry any more. I know Hetty did not mean to do any thing wrong.
She might forget,—any one might; but I am sure she wouldn't do any
thing mean, for the world. No, no, Minny; you don't know Hetty as well
as I do or you would never suspect her!"
These simple, kind words from the friend she had so cruelly injured
touched Henrietta to the heart. She would have given any thing to throw
her arms round Elsie's neck and "make up." But nothing is harder than
to forgive those whom we have injured. The consciousness of the unkind
speeches—nay, the downright treachery—of which she had been guilty
towards Elsie, came between, and she resisted the good impulse. The
next moment, she had hardened her heart anew, and even felt as though
Elsie had given her fresh cause for anger.
"Come, come, Minny; don't cry any more," said Elsie. "The bell will
ring in a minute. Miss Armitage has taken off her bonnet, and is just
going up-stairs. If she sees that you have been crying, she will be
sure to ask the reason, and make a fuss about it; and you would not
like that. Kiss, and be friends, and then come and wash your face
before school begins."
"You 'are' a good girl, Elsie!" said Minny, really touched for the
moment. "And I am sorry I ever did any thing to vex you. I should never
have said what I did, if I had known what I do now."
"Yes, if you had known she was Madam Wentworth's niece," said Henrietta
to herself. "Well, if ever I would do any thing so shabby as that! And
Elsie, too! If Minny had said to me what she did to her, I would never
speak to her again the longest day I lived!"
She suffered Minny to kiss her, and even said something about being
sorry she had done any thing to hurt her. While Minny, on her part, was
profuse in caresses and protestations. Thus the breach was apparently
healed; but it was only in appearance. Henrietta despised Minny for
what she considered her time-serving. She was vexed with her for
wishing to get rid of her share of responsibility about the story.
And, above all, she was angry at her for placing herself so decidedly
in the wrong. Minny had charged her not to tell: there was no denying
that. Yet she had told all she had heard from her, and a great deal
more; and, as was to be expected, the story had lost nothing by being
transmitted from one mouth to another through the school. She was
sensible that if Minnie deserted her, she would be placed in a very
awkward position, supposing she should ever be called to account.
"Oh, dear!" she said to herself for the hundredth time. "How I wish I
had never seen the old socks! They have made nothing but trouble and
mischief!"
Minny, on her part, was very well pleased with the unexpected turn
things had taken. It gave her an opportunity of making friends with
Elsie, without seeming to go out of her way to do so. And the fact that
Hetty had betrayed her confidence gave her, as she imagined, a great
advantage, which she would not in the least scruple to use as best
suited her purposes. It never occurred to her to think that she had, by
her silence, her mysterious looks and half-uttered hints, confirmed all
that Henrietta said, and had thus made herself a party to the slander.
All day she continued to make advances to Elsie, who received them
coolly enough; for her distrust of Minny had been too long in growing
to be removed all at once. She was not influenced merely by Minny's
former impertinence, but she had seen in her more than one instance of
downright falsehood. And she had every reason to believe that Minny
was at the bottom of all the trouble about the socks—that it was she
who had influenced the girls against her—and she could not overlook
that matter of the opera-glass. She therefore received Minny's polite
advances with civil indifference, and did not seem in the least
flattered by them.
And when school was out, Minny could not decide in her own mind whether
she had made any headway at all. Meantime, her new line of conduct did
not pass unnoticed by the other girls.
"Minny is trying to be friends with Elsie," said Sarah Stone, whose
eyes and ears were everywhere, as usual. "She has been doing the
charming to her all day. I wonder what that is for?"
"Perhaps she has found out that she was wrong about the socks, and
wants to make up," observed one of the girls.
"Not she! She would only be all the more vexed," said Sarah. "It is
something more than that, you may depend."
"I think I could give the clue to the mystery," said Rose Chesterfield,
smiling; "but I don't want to be uncharitable."
"I know well enough," said Lizzie Becket. "Madam Wentworth has come
home, and Minny has found out that Elsie is her niece. They were in
church together yesterday; and I heard Minny asking Henrietta about it
on their way home. Hetty and she sat together, and, certainly, I never
saw two girls behave worse in church than they did. I could hear them
whispering and laughing all the way to our pew. Mother asked me who
they were, and I Was really ashamed to tell her that they went to our
school. I don't know what Mrs. Laurens would have said."
"Mother!" said Sarah, affecting surprise. "I thought your mother was
dead."
"For shame, Sarah!" said Rose.
"Oh, you mean your father's wife. Excuse me, but I thought I remembered
hearing some one say that she never would call Miss Palmer mother, if
she died for it. Perhaps it wasn't you, though."
"You know it was I, well enough," said Lizzy, bluntly. "I said a great
many foolish things about it. I did not think I ever could like her;
but I do. She is very kind to me and to the children; and, besides, it
ought to be enough that she is my father's wife, to make me respect
her, at any rate."
"Well, I must say, I like a little consistency!" sneered Sarah.
"Consistency for me, above all things."
"In other words, having once been in the wrong, I will always be in the
wrong!" observed Rose.
"'Don't be consistent, but be simply true!'"
"Who was it said that?"
"A wise man and a witty," said Augusta. "I am glad Lizzy has the
independence to own that she was in the wrong, if she thinks so."
"Well, I think I wouldn't be quite so ready to talk, if I had to eat my
words so often," said Sarah. "It isn't a kind of refreshment I am very
fond of myself."
"Ah, there I give in!" replied Rose. "We all talk too much."
"'You' haven't any thing to reproach yourself with in that line, Rose,"
said Augusta, laughing. "However, I agree to the principle. It is
better not to be in too much of a hurry to express one's opinion about
things or people. Blessed are they who know how and when to hold their
tongues."
Henrietta went home from school feeling very uncomfortable. She was
angry with Minny, with Elsie, and with herself. She had repeated the
story of Miss Delancy and the socks over and over, and had dwelt upon
it in her own mind till she had come to a full belief in Elsie's
dishonesty. And she was deeply displeased at being reminded on how
slight a foundation her conviction rested.
Elsie's kind and trustful words to Minny had touched her, in spite
of herself; but, as she had hardened her heart to them, they only
increased her displeasure. She felt as if being forgiven by her former
friend was the one thing that she could not endure. Then her conscience
troubled her sorely, and would not be quieted; and now added to all was
the consciousness of an act of dishonesty, which she could not recall
without a feeling of shame and terror which almost made her sick. If
she would only have laid the blame where it was due, she might have
come to a true sense of her sin, and so, by confession and reparation,
have attained to peace. But she persisted in ascribing the trouble to
any thing and every thing but her own fault: to the socks, which had
taken so much of her time,—to Elsie,—to Minny; nay, even poor Cecilia
had to come in for a share, for possessing such a fascinating cat!
Moreover, her sister's steady industry in the face of so many
difficulties was a continual reproach to Henrietta. It really annoyed
her to see Cecy propped on her cushions, and working away with as
much seriousness as though the fate of the whole army of the Potomac
depended on her poor little wasted fingers. And she would even have
been glad had something happened to put an end to the poor child's
employment.
All these conflicting feelings did not tend to make her very amiable.
She had been in the habit of allowing Corporal to take great liberties
with her ball of yarn, till he had come to regard it as his legitimate
plaything, and would stand on his hind legs and lift it out of her lap
with the coolest and most businesslike air conceivable, much to the
diversion of the little girls. On this particular evening, she did not
feel disposed to allow that officer any such latitude; and, on his
making his usual approaches, he was rewarded by a sound box on the ear.
Mrs. Laurens looked up surprised, and Cecy's ever-ready tears rose to
her eyes.
But the Corporal had no idea of being treated in any such way, and
returned the blow with his paw,—which, having the advantage of very
long and sharp claws, was very unwelcome. He then retired, and took up
a strong position in the corner of Cecy's sofa.
"You hateful creature!" exclaimed Henrietta. "I wish you were
drowned! See how he has scratched me. That is always the way with
cats,—treacherous things!"
"Who struck first?" said Mrs. Laurens.
"Well, I don't care! He had no business to take my ball. I'll teach him
to meddle with it, if he comes here again!"
"You taught him to meddle with it, in the first place," replied her
mother. "I told you, you would make him troublesome. But it is hardly
fair to punish the poor animal for a trick which you yourself taught
him. I don't wonder his sense of justice is offended."
"He never scratches 'me,'" said Cecy, petting her favourite.
"Oh, of course it is all right," said Henrietta, colouring, and with a
voice trembling with anger. "It is only 'my' hand that is scratched.
Of course, that is of no consequence. If it was Cecy, it would be
different; but if he wanted to eat me up, it would be all right, so
long as it pleased her."
"Henrietta, my child, what is the matter with you?" asked her mother,
seriously. "You are not like the same girl that you were six weeks ago.
I never would have believed you could show such a temper towards any
one, much less towards your sister. I am sure all is not as it should
be. If any thing has gone wrong, tell me what it is, and I will try to
have it set right; but pray do not go on indulging such a spirit as
this."
"There is nothing the matter," replied Henrietta: "only I don't like to
be always blamed and found fault with, while Cecy never can do anything
wrong. I don't see why she should have her own way in every thing,
while I must be the one to give up."
And Henrietta burst into a flood of tears, which had been accumulating
all day.
Her mother tried to soothe her, and then to reason with her; but all in
vain.
She could be brought to say nothing but that every one was against
her,—everybody hated her,—she had to bear the blame of every thing that
happened, in school or at home, and she wished she was dead and out of
the way!
Mrs. Laurens perceived at once that there was more behind all this
grief and anger than the quarrel with Corporal, and came to the
conclusion that something unpleasant must have happened at school. By
degrees she extracted the information that Hetty had had a quarrel with
Minny, and that Minny and every one had treated her very unkindly.
Mrs. Laurens had not forgotten (as many people do) the feelings of
her own childhood. She remembered the bitterness of a quarrel between
school-friends, and was therefore inclined to excuse Henrietta's
petulance. She did not think it desirable to go very deeply into the
subject while her feelings were so much excited, and therefore asked
few questions, but applied herself simply to the task of pouring oil on
the troubled waters.
When the first tempest of anger was over, Hetty had the grace to be
heartily ashamed of her outburst. She kissed Cecy, whose affliction had
been equal to her own, and, at her earnest request, made friends with
Corporal by scratching his chin and smoothing his fur,—advances which
he received with much pleasure.
"You are not vexed with me now, are you, Hetty?" asked Cecy.
"No, my dear," replied her mother, taking the answer on herself. "Hetty
was uncomfortable about something else, and that made her impatient.
You know you are sometimes cross when you are in trouble. We will not
talk about it any more just now."
"Oh, dear! If I could only tell mother everything, as I used to, what
a comfort it would be!" thought poor Henrietta. "But then that last! I
should not dare! She never would forgive me, I am sure. Oh, dear, dear!
How miserable I am! And then to see Minny courting Elsie all day, just
because she is Madam Wentworth's niece, and trying to throw all the
blame on me! Elsie never would have done that, anyhow."
For the first time, the thought crossed her mind that she should be
glad to find Elsie innocent; and yet, if she was so, what was she? She
made a great effort to think of something else, and was so pleasant all
the evening and the next day, that her mother hoped the trouble had
passed by. But it was only covered up, and ready to break out again on
the first provocation.
Henrietta and Minny met very coolly next morning. No absolute
broach was apparent as yet, but there were none of those abundant
demonstrations of affection with which they were accustomed to greet
one another,—no kisses, or interlaced arms, or going aside into corners
to whisper confidences.
Minny assumed an injured look, and spoke with a plaintive tone,
exasperating Henrietta to the last degree. Her whole air and manner
seemed to say, as plainly as possible, "Behold my magnanimity! You
have injured me deeply, you have betrayed my confidence and abused my
affection; but I forgive you! I heap coals of fire on your head, and I
hope you will find them hot enough to make you very uncomfortable."
Towards Elsie, Minny was cordiality itself. She would willingly have
been something more than cordial, had that been possible.
But Elsie gave no encouragement to any display of affection. Her
dislike of Minny was no prejudice. It was founded on a pretty accurate
estimate of that young lady's character, and she did not believe
Minny would have turned round so suddenly unless she had a point to
carry. It might be merely a desire to spite Henrietta, or it might be
for some other reason, which did not appear. At all events, she felt
no disposition whatever to form an intimacy with her, and contented
herself with replying sparingly and with the coolest civility to her
advances.
Towards Henrietta, Elsie felt very differently. Ever since they were
little children, they had played and studied together: Elsie had
always loved her like a sister, and, though deeply wounded by her late
desertion, she continued to cherish a strong regard for her former
friend. She knew that Hetty was easily led, whether for good or evil;
and her own stronger will had kept her out of many difficulties, and
helped to sustain the good character which, till lately, she had always
maintained in school.
Elsie believed that Minny had used Hetty for the furtherance of her
own designs as long as it suited her convenience, and, as she also
believed, would have no hesitation in casting her off, and throwing
all the blame on her—if blame there was—whenever it became desirable
to do so. She would willingly have warned Henrietta, had it been
possible; but Henrietta sedulously avoided her, and, though she did
not absolutely refuse to speak when they met, her salutation was the
coldest and briefest possible.
"And, after all," Elsie reasoned, "I really know nothing certain:
it is only suspicion. Henrietta may have got up the whole story
herself,—though it is not the least like her old ways. Sarah Stone says
she did; but then Sarah is no more to be trusted than Minny,—perhaps
not so much. The girls are all coming round again: that is one comfort."
The tide had certainly turned in Elsie's favour during the last two or
three days. The older girls felt ashamed of the suspicions they had
been led to entertain of one who had always borne such an excellent
character for uprightness and honesty.
Rose, and two or three of her friends, had adhered to Elsie from first
to last, and they were girls who had great weight in the school. Rose
was ordinarily a person of few words; but, when she did speak, it was
to the point, and her reputation for accuracy was such that her simple
"I think so," or, at most, "I am quite sure," was more convincing than
a whole volume of protestations from those whose ideas of truth were
more loose. Rose had not hesitated from the first to declare the whole
tale to be a slander.
And when Minny inquired, with what she intended for crushing dignity,—
"Do you mean to say, Miss Chesterfield, that you could believe Hetty or
myself capable of inventing such a story?"
Rose coolly replied,—"Much sooner than I would believe Elsie guilty of
such an imposition."
"I should like to know why," said Minny.
"Because," replied Rose, "I have known you to tell falsehoods, and
Elsie I never did."
Minny did not care to pursue this conversation any further, nor did she
repeat it to Hetty. She thought Hetty might take it up more warmly than
would be quite convenient at present.
In the course of Tuesday morning, a carriage was heard to stop at the
school-door. Elsie was sent for down-stairs, and, after a few minutes'
absence, she returned with a very bright face, and whispered to Miss
Armitage, who went down in her turn. The girls looked at each other
with significant smiles. They had seen such proceedings before, and
knew what they portended.
"When, Elsie?" whispered one of the girls as she passed.
But Elsie only laughed, and put her finger to her lip.
Presently the carriage was heard to drive off, and Miss Armitage
returned to the school-room. The class which was reciting when the
interruption occurred finished the lesson, and things went on as usual
till the hour of recess, when Miss Armitage called the attention of the
young ladies by her usual signal,—tapping the table with the key.
"I have the pleasure of informing you, young ladies," said the
principal, in her most gracious manner, "that you are all invited to
Madam Wentworth's house to tea this afternoon at five o'clock. Mrs.
Wentworth begs me to say that she hopes you will excuse the shortness
of the notice, which was unavoidable, and also that she hopes to see
every one in the school, from the oldest to the youngest. As most of
you are acquainted with the habits of our kind old friend, I need not
tell you that when she says five she means exactly sixty minutes past
four, and not a moment later. And, as I suppose you may wish some
little time for preparation, I shall dismiss school at two o'clock. The
young ladies may now have a short recess."
As may be imagined, there was but one subject of conversation.
"A party at Madam Wentworth's! Isn't it grand?" said Lizzy. "How long
it is since we have had one!—Not since last winter."
"Because Aunt Wentworth has been away," remarked Elsie.
"I am sure she is very kind to take so much trouble for us so soon,"
said little Isabella. "But I wonder why she asked all the school at
once? She never did that before. She used always to invite us young
ones by ourselves on Saturday afternoon."
"Oh, that was last winter," said little Kitty French, who, though only
eight, felt at least twelve. "We were very little girls then. It Is
quite different now."
"I dare say she had a good reason for it," said Augusta, carelessly.
"She isn't apt to do things without a motive."
"But the notice is so short," said one of the new scholars. "I can
never get any thing ready to wear."
"Don't trouble yourself about that, Christine," said Elsie. "Aunt
neither expects nor wishes us to dress. That blue merino you wear
sometimes is just the thing."
"Why didn't you let her alone?" asked Sarah Stone, as Christine left
the room. "It would have been such fun to put her up to wear a light
silk dress and short sleeves, and then see how she would look when
she found all the rest of us in our school-dresses! You are a regular
spoil-sport, Elsie."
"I don't like such sport," replied Elsie. "It is rather cruel, I
think,—especially with a stranger."
"Dear me, Saint Stockings!" retorted Sarah; but no laugh followed.
The girls looked indignant, and Sarah, seeing that she had missed her
mark, thought it advisable to withdraw.
Minny joined Henrietta as the school went out. "Are you going to Madam
Wentworth's?" she asked.
"I don't know, I am sure," replied Henrietta, who had been debating the
matter in her own mind. "I can't say that I want to go; but I am afraid
it will look odd if I don't."
"Yes, indeed, it will," said Minny, decidedly. "Connected with her
as you are, and having been there as much 'as you say' you have,—" a
slight emphasis on these words made Hetty wince, "it would look very
odd to stay away now when the whole school is invited. You will have to
give her and your mother a reason; and if you say you have quarrelled
with Elsie, it will all come out. Oh, yes: you must go; and do try to
look a little less as if you were going to be hung, Henrietta."
"I can't help it, Minny," said Hetty, half crying, "I am so unhappy."
"What of that? I am sure you haven't half as much to bear as I have.
Nobody has betrayed your secrets. Come, now; don't begin to cry. I told
you I forgave you, and I only hope you can forgive yourself."
And with this charitable wish, uttered in a highly exasperating tone of
superiority, Minny bade her friend good-night.